


Eat to Live

by Gileonnen



Series: Trust [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Casual Death Threats, Gen, Loneliness as Dauntless Foe, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Soup and Conversation, Two Suspicious Bastards Attempt a Social Visit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 05:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gileonnen/pseuds/Gileonnen
Summary: Drifter spreads his hands, chopsticks in one, bowl in the other. "You got me. Just feelin' a little maudlin lately, so I figured I'd hunt down the meanest son of a bitch in the EDZ for a heart to heart."Shin Malphur tries to enjoy a quiet meal alone. The Drifter has other plans for the evening.





	Eat to Live

It's autumn in the EDZ, and the nights stretch long. It's near dusk by the time Shin gets back to his safehouse, backpack full of sweet potatoes and garlic mustard and wood-ear mushrooms. Would've been good to take down a rabbit just to get a little protein in his diet, but he didn't see any while he was out foraging. Either the EDZ's bad for rabbits, or they know to be wary of hunters.

Shin's the Man with the Golden Gun, though, so he's used to that.

This time, he's fetched up at an old ruined temple. It reminds him of the Last City, a little--blue and white tiles on the back wall, arched windows, pillars traced with geometric designs. Part of the roof's fallen in, but part of it's still up, which is more than he can say for some places he's stayed.

He pours a little water out of his canteen to wash the greens and mushrooms off, then pours the rest into his soup pot with a pinch of salt. A touch of solar Light starts a fire licking at the tinder in his fire pit; another sliver of sunlight makes a knife to peel and slice the sweet potatoes and to cut the garlic mustard fine. The vegetables go in once the water's started to boil. Would've been better to cook them dry first, get a nice brown crust on the sweet potatoes and let the flavors deepen some, but the only oil he has is gun oil.

He sits back, stirring the pot with his chopsticks now and then, checking whether the sweet potatoes are tender yet. His gun rests on the floor beside him. It doesn't have a name. Shin likes that it doesn't have a name.

A shadow fills up the doorway when the sweet potatoes are just about done. Shin doesn't look up from his fire pit--just raises his gun as he stirs the fire a little. "Move along, stranger," he says, low. "Ain't looking for trouble tonight."

A familiar chuckle echoes from the walls. When Shin raises his eyes, he sees the man who calls himself Drifter outlined in moonlight. "Didn't think there'd come a day when Shin Malphur wasn't looking for trouble," he says.

"I'm retired," Shin answers.

"Bullshit."

He can say what he liked about Shin, but Drifter doesn't come looking for trouble unless he's running from something worse. Whatever's at his back, it has to be pretty damn bad for him to seek out Shin's fireside. And that means it's Shin's business, whether he likes it or not.

Sighing, Shin gives the fire another poke. "You going to sit down and have some soup, or you going to make me shoot you."

It isn't a question, and Drifter doesn't bother answering. But he does sit down across the fire and give the soup a sniff. "Could use somethin' spicy," he pronounces. "Ginger, maybe. Some red peppers, sliced nice and thin."

"Fresh out of peppers, 'less you brought some."

Drifter slides a flask out of his boot and takes a long pull. He wipes his mouth, then passes the flask across the fire. _Wants me to put down the gun,_ Shin thinks. _As though that's going to tip the scales his way._

He sets his gun aside and tips the flask back. The lip of it is wet where Drifter's mouth was on it; the liquor inside burns sweet, clear and golden as a river of sunlight. "Thanks," says Shin, handing back the flask.

He tests the sweet potatoes again, and his chopstick slides right through. "Hungry?" he asks.

The firelight gleams in Drifter's eyes. "Always, brother."

Shin dips a bowl in the pot, then takes a long sip of the broth. It's thin, but once it's had a while to boil, the salt and herbs and mushrooms will round it out. He hands the bowl over and the chopsticks with it.

"So," he asks, while Drifter's tucking in. "What brings you out my way?"

Drifter glances up and flashes a crooked smile. There are too many teeth in it. "A man can't pay a social call?"

"You and me aren't the social calling types."

Drifter slurps up the last of the broth in the bowl, then sets it aside. He sits back against a pillar with his hands folded behind his neck. Still smiling that easy, toothy smile. It makes the hair stand up on the back of Shin's neck. "See, I thought so, too. We had our arrangement. Drew some lines. But then I hear you've set up camp in my back yard. Started shooting up Guardians who don't toe the line. And I figured I'd better pay a visit to my new neighbor."

"Bullshit," Shin drawls, long and savoring. He swipes the bowl from where it sits by Drifter's knee, then dips out some more soup from the pot. It's almost too hot to hold. He blows steam from the surface in a great rolling cloud, then drinks. "What are you running from this time, Drifter?"

"I ain't running from no one." But the answer comes too fast, too forceful. The muscles around Drifter's eyes are tight; even by firelight, Shin can see it.

He hitches up one knee and rests his wrist on it, bringing the soup bowl up every now and then to take a sip. He doesn't say anything--just watches Drifter's face as the silence stretches between them. Jaren used to have a way of just going about his business when he'd caught Shin in a lie, letting the discomfort grow until it felt like a physical thing.

Eventually, Drifter looks away. He lets his hands fall to his lap, but they twitch like they can't stay settled there. He flicks his wrist, and suddenly one of his Gambit tokens is resting in his palm. He rolls it over his knuckles, watching the jade glitter in the light. "You ever hope you were wrong about somebody?" he asks. It's like he's talking to himself.

"Lost count of how many times."

"You put your trust in 'em. Give 'em everything the Light never gave you. Everything you could tear out of the claws of Darkness. And you ask 'em to trust you back, just once, just an inch, and ... shit." The Gambit token vanishes in a puff of flame. Drifter looks down at his hand, then reaches for his flask again and tips it all the way back.

"That's the problem with making yourself out to be an untrustworthy bastard," Shin says wryly. "Nobody trusts you when it counts."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience," Drifter laughs. "You gonna finish that?"

Shin passes the bowl back over, and Drifter tucks into the last of the sweet potatoes. While he's eating, Shin puts a lid on the pot and takes it off the fire. The rest will keep until morning, probably. If not, it's not like it'll kill him. "Is that all you came here to do? Eat my food, talk about trust?"

Drifter spreads his hands, chopsticks in one, bowl in the other. "You got me. Just feelin' a little maudlin lately, so I figured I'd hunt down the meanest son of a bitch in the EDZ for a heart to heart."

Shin lets the sarcasm slide. "Should've brought more liquor, then."

"Or some fucking spices. Didn't realize you'd gone all survivalist out here, eating roots and tree bark."

A faint smirk ghosts over Shin's lips. "Guess I took a page from your book."

Drifter leans in. There's something avid in his expression; his face is flushed, and it could be the drink as easily as the fire's heat. "Be straight with me. What's your angle? You waiting for someone? Settin' up a little rendezvous with the Praxic Order?"

"Told you, I'm retired."

"You expect anyone to believe that? Shin Fucking Malphur just hung up his Golden Gun and decided to live off the land in the EDZ?"

A part of Shin wants to say yes. There's something to be said for a quiet day in the woods, cutting back a clearing and putting up trellises where next year's beans can climb sunward. The weight of a sweet potato from the ancient garden he's been scavenging. The way dirt feels under his fingernails. How dawn and dusk set the pace of his day, and the seasons set out the plan of his year. There's a satisfaction in seeing exactly how much work there is to do, and how much you've already done.

But this old mosque is a safehouse, not a home. Sooner or later, he'll pass on to somewhere else, and the bean vines will grow wild in his absence.

Nothing ends. Not even the things he's left behind.

"You want to talk about trust," he says at last. "You know why you've got to trust people?"

"Gotta have someone to watch your back," Drifter answers.

Shin shakes his head. "Because sometimes you pour yourself into something bigger than you are. There will come a day when you can't be there--maybe someone snuffed your Light. Maybe you're on the wrong side of the system. Maybe you get to a point where you lose your way, and you turn into the thing you've been fighting. And when that day comes, there needs to be someone else who can step up in your place. Someone you can trust."

For a moment, Drifter looks at him like he's trying to figure out the joke. Waiting for Shin to crack a smile, admit that it was all a pile of bullshit. But when that moment ends, Drifter leans back and laughs. "You are one crazy son of a bitch, you know that? 'Pour yourself into something bigger than you are,' what are you, a fucking bottle of vino?"

Shin sighs. "Suppose I am. And lately, I've been feeling pretty empty."

By now, the fire's beginning to die down. Shin stirs the embers, hoping to coax some life out of them, but their light's on its way out.

"Hey," says Drifter. He leans in, illuminated from below. That same avid look is in his eyes. "You ever get tired of creeping around in ruins, I've got a place now by the Tower. Neighbors are a wild bunch, but I've got a roof and a hot plate. Might be a nice little upgrade."

Shin's heard about Drifter's place in the Annex, but it'd feel rude bringing up how. "Is that an invitation?"

"Call it a new arrangement." Drifter holds out his hand. The last of the light picks out the seams of his gloves.

Shin grips his hand and shakes. "May as well. Since you owe me dinner, and all."

"I don't recall where that's part of our arrangement," says Drifter as he climbs to his feet. By the time he's straightened up, he's all business and bluster again. He waggles his fingers at Shin in a wave. "See you around, hotshot."

Drifter steps out into the moonlight, and the blue glow of transmat overtakes him.

For a long while, Shin sits in the gathering darkness. Outside, fireflies flicker and dim. The smell of woodsmoke is heavy on the air. He knows he should shake out his sleeping bag, tuck his gun under his pillow, and turn in for the night, but his mind is still on Drifter's glittering eyes. He can't make himself forget the way he'd looked at Shin, like he was reaching out from an abyss--all fear and hope and yearning.

_Gotta have someone to watch your back._

It'll probably mean trouble in the long run. But Drifter was right about one thing: there hasn't yet come a day when Shin Malphur wasn't looking for trouble.


End file.
